The evening was calm, and the table was laden with dishes she had prepared with love. Everyone was seated around it, laughing and reminiscing about the past—everyone except him. Her childhood friend, the one she was used to seeing by her side, was not there.

She lifted her eyes, searching for him, and found him standing alone on the balcony. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, its smoke disappearing into the air. His gaze was fixed on the dark lake in front of the house, where her lover swam alone. There was something different in his expression—a mix of coldness and suppressed anger.

She approached him cautiously and whispered:

“Why don’t you join us at the table? Everyone misses you.” He didn’t look at her, just exhaled a long puff of smoke and replied coldly:

“I’m not hungry. I have other things on my mind.”

Her eyes followed his gaze toward the lake, where her lover’s hand was waving strangely, almost as if he was calling for help. She gasped.

“He’s drowning! We need to help him!”

But he remained still, as if he were waiting for something. Finally, he turned to her, his eyes void of any emotion, and said bitterly:

“Maybe you should realize that not everyone you love deserves to be saved.”

Her heart clenched with confusion and fear. It felt as if she were seeing a new side of her childhood friend—a side she never knew existed.